True Colours (The Third Book in the Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  The Dutchman continued, while Pandora closed on her. Donaldson moved back to the starboard piece, which was just about ready. From his vantage point Lewis reckoned the gunner would have just one, or maybe two more chances, then the botter would be within the arc of Pandora’s broadside. Again a shot rang out, and this time a hit was clear and evident. The small boat’s larboard side was struck, her leeboard disappearing in a cloud of splinters and dust. She slew round to starboard, the sails flapping wildly, as the men struggled to control the tipping craft. Still Pandora bore down, although now it seemed the race had been won. Banks ordered the mizzen backed, and her pace began to slow, as the botter completed her involuntary turn and, with her one remaining leeboard down to give a measure of grip, began to slowly beat back towards the coast of Vileland.

  Lewis looked back toward the quarterdeck. The captain, apparently satisfied, seemed about to leave the deck, as was King, who would be sharing the next watch, the second dog, with him. They had less than half an hour until then, and the sighting of the botter had robbed both of their meal. But there was time enough for a bite of biscuit and cheese, and Lewis was just turning to go below when it happened.

  The cries from the leadsman had been droning on continuously; most had been all but ignoring them, but when the depth suddenly dropped from just over six fathoms, to barely four, the seaman in the forechains had the undivided attention of all of the officers and most of the men aboard Pandora.

  * * * * *

  On the quarterdeck Fraiser looked up from where he had been making a small prick in his chart. The channel should have been widening, and gaining depth; he was sure of his positioning having taken bearings from the shore only a few minutes before, and this abrupt decrease in depth was alarming. The next cry came at just over three fathoms; suddenly they had less than six feet of water under their keel and they were close to an enemy shore. Banks looked across.

  "A course, master?"

  Fraiser shook his head. "We had better stay as we are, sir," he said. "This channel continues for just on a cable, then widens, and the bar to larboard disappears altogether."

  The captain nodded. With the wind as it was they would have no problem in turning, but with a bar running alongside they would have to continue, or risk almost certain grounding. The mizzen was still backed, and Pandora’s speed was barely enough to allow steerage.

  "But the bed’s shoaling."

  "Aye, sir; it is, and according to the chart it has reason to, though not as severely as we are finding."

  "It’s a falling tide," Banks prompted, feeling instantly foolish; Fraiser was well aware of the state of the tide, and had gone as far to remind him, not ten minutes ago, when he had insisted on continuing after that botter.

  The splash from the leadsman came, followed shortly by his call. Three fathoms. The next was the same; then the depth increased slightly, to nigh on four.

  "Ready yet, master?"

  Fraiser shook his head. There seemed little need to rush, as an early turn would apparently run them aground. The chart might be inaccurate, but it was all they had, and it indicated deeper water ahead, deeper water that would last a good half a mile; better to stay as they were a spell longer.

  The next call was still just below the four-fathom mark. Room enough, although the chart gave the depth as almost twice as much. Then it started to shelve.

  "By the mark three!" every officer on the quarterdeck held their breath, and Banks felt his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands. He glared at Fraiser, but the Scotsman shook his head. They had still to reach the point where the larboard bar began to decrease; any chart, however poor, was likely to detect shallows more reliably than depressions.

  "I’d give it a while longer, sir," Fraiser said, quietly. "The bar is still marked, but starts to fade in less than half a cable."

  Banks nodded, although all his instincts urged him to order the helm across and head for open water.

  "By the mark three." The waiting was starting to tell. King was fidgeting like a midshipman, and even Caulfield, usually the most solid and composed of men, had started to shift his weight from foot to foot as if eager to break into a dance. Fraiser looked at the enemy coast, so close on their starboard beam. The island of Vileland was passing them by. There was a spell of clear water before the next, Terschelling, he told himself hurriedly. Presumably tidal streams passing between the two landmasses caused the deep water they were seeking. In which case it would be further than the chart showed, at least another cable, possibly more.

  "Are we ready to turn yet, master?" The captain appealed to him, like a child might a father, but it was no good; Banks’ instincts certainly led him seawards, but Fraiser’s just as firmly kept them on their present heading.

  "I’d not wish to alter course, sir. I think the depth we seek is further ahead."

  "But the chart?"

  "The chart shows us to have sufficient water here, sir."

  "Do you want us to heave to, launch a boat and take soundings to larboard?"

  "The tide is settling fast, sir; I fear we do not have the time."

  "Then what do you suggest?"

  "I suggest we continue on this heading, sir."

  Then there was a pause, and all were silent as the leadsman’s cry was heard again.

  "By the mark three." They were holding their own, but only just.

  Banks was also looking across at the enemy coast. It appeared to be lacking any form of military installation, but there might well be shore batteries concealed in the grass-fringed dunes about the entrance between the two islands. If not, and Pandora did run aground, they were likely to be within the range of any field artillery the Dutch chose to bring to bear on them, while they attempted to refloat the ship.

  "Take her to larboard, quartermaster," he said suddenly. Fraiser looked up but was silent; Banks turned to him. "Mr Fraiser, I take full responsibility: we are in a dangerous situation, and have to try for deeper water."

  "Very good, sir, but I would suggest waiting. Fifty feet might see us out of the channel."

  "The channel could have shifted," Banks said determinedly.

  The helmsmen were turning the wheel and the afterguard slowly pulled on the braces, keeping the sails drawing in the wind as Pandora slowly responded. Soon she had her bows pointed towards the early evening sun, and all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as she began heading away from the enemy coast.

  "By the mark four!"

  Fraiser nodded to Banks. It appeared as though the captain was right; more than that, he had the moral courage to follow his belief and overrule the advice of others: it was a talent Fraiser respected more than most. But still the manoeuvre went against all his instincts as a sailing master, and he found it hard to fight down a growing inner tension as the ship sailed deeper into the dark seas. Then, with the gentlest of jolts, followed by a slight lurch to starboard, Pandora grounded.

  * * * * *

  The air was filled with a thousand sounds; boatswain’s pipes called the hands to obey the flurry of orders that seemed to come from every officer. The thud of horny feet echoed on the deck, and creaking spars and shrieking blocks added to the cacophony, which encouraged panic and made logical thought almost impossible. But order remained; sails were gathered in, and the one remaining cutter was lowered from its davits. The launch was lifted from its cradle, and swung out from tackle attached to the main and forecourse yardarms, while Fraiser diligently took bearings from known locations on the land, and carefully marked their position; probably one of the few accurate points on the entire chart. Banks himself ran to the forecastle, dodging the seamen surprised at seeing one so mighty in what was considered their space. He leant out over the bower anchor, and peered down to where King was manoeuvring the small boat below.

  "What bottom have you?"

  "Sand, sir," King replied. "We seem well set. I’d say just under half the hull has taken ground. Cribbins here is a sound swimmer; he’s volunteered to go over the side t
o confirm."

  Banks shook his head; they would learn little from a visual examination, and he felt that Pandora had not suffered any great damage. The main problem was the falling tide.

  A fresh squeal of blocks drew his attention to the launch, which was now suspended precariously over the heads of men working in the waist.

  "Take a cable from the stern," he shouted down at King. "Mr Caulfield will join you shortly; with luck we might be able to pull her off, and still get out before the tide settles. Otherwise it will have to be the anchor." He moved on, not waiting for a reply, and ducked under the swinging launch as it hung overhead. Once back on the quarterdeck he approached Fraiser.

  "Master, you were quite correct, and I am sorry to have doubted you."

  Fraiser nodded his head politely, but said nothing.

  "I’d be obliged if you would attend to the stores. We’ve taken at the bows: see everything that can be moved sternwards is shifted without delay. Caulfield approached him, touching his hat.

  "The guns, sir?"

  Banks shook his head, "I’ll not lose the armament at this point, thank you Mr Caulfield."

  "We could buoy them and collect later, sir."

  "No, not yet," he repeated firmly, and moved back to stare across the taffrail at the nearby coast.

  It was slightly less than a mile, and there were an assortment of small dwellings, larger buildings that might be warehouses and what looked like a church. No flags were flying, however, and no masts stood out in the small natural harbour behind the inlet. Were there active shore defences he would doubtless have learnt about them by now, although their predicament would be obvious and it would not take so very long for field pieces to be brought up from the nearby Fort on Texel. He turned back, looking for Fraiser, but finding him gone. Caulfield caught his eye.

  "What time is low tide?" he asked the lieutenant.

  "Just gone eight, sir."

  That was good; a little over two hours, so in slightly more than four they would be in the same position but on a rising tide. Beneath him came the sound of the stern windows being forced open in his quarters. The cutter came into view, and a light line was thrown out to it. In no time a thicker cable was secured to the sternsheets, and the men began to row. He turned back, the launch was now in the water, and being brought round to join the cutter. Every rowing station was double banked in the larger boat’s thirty-foot hull, and it had soon joined King’s cutter, and taken up the strain.

  The sound of casks being heaved about came from below, and there was the gurgle of water; presumably someone had ordered the well to be pumped dry. If it came to it he might have to start some fresh water barrels, but again, that could wait.

  He turned back, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets; a vice he had tried to avoid since being repeatedly reprimanded for it when a midshipman. He looked about; everyone was working furiously, intent on saving the ship, for the longer she stayed as she was the more certain her fate would be. No one took any notice of him, and no one spoke. It was one of the privileges of command, he supposed. If he chose he could halt the work; a single, lunatic, order from him would see all plain sail set, anchors dropped, or the ship abandoned. Ultimately he could even have the colours taken down, should he so choose. It was up to him as captain to make decisions, although he was also expected to make the right ones. On the occasions when he failed, a measure of latitude would be extended, as was currently the case. Presumably, should he continue to slip, he would very soon stop being in command, but for now it would seem he had earned the right to have made the present error. It might even be a good sign; past actions had apparently won the men’s regard, and he was now drawing on the credit accrued. But that was little consolation; he would have given every ounce of respect he might have amassed to relive the last ten minutes. And he wished, oh how he wished, there was someone with enough pluck, temerity and time to call him a purblind fool.

  * * * * *

  It had been a hot day, but as the afternoon gave way to evening, and the evening grew into dark night, King began to shiver. He and Lewis were in the cutter, off Pandora’s starboard side, taking regular soundings, coordinating their position from bearings taken on the land, and marking the depth on a rough chart that was gradually becoming filled with small dark inky figures. When they found a depth of more than four fathoms, they buoyed it, with a lengths of weighted line tied to pieces of painted wood. Looking back there was already a trail leading away from the stricken ship that should take her to safety and the open sea. But that was depending on two things; getting Pandora afloat, and no undiscovered obstructions halting her on the way. They might well have exposed a wide and deep channel, but could they be certain there were no odd promontories or even a rogue rock that would take the frigate’s bottom from her? Behind him the crew of the launch were collecting the stream anchor. It was a delicate manoeuvre, securing the half ton lump of iron to tackle in the bows. If released suddenly it could easily flip the boat over, and they would be sunk for certain were some dreadful accident to occur, and the anchor be allowed to drop whilst directly overhead. They were taking the weight now, and King watched as the hull sank several inches in the water, and remained listing to larboard, with the bows far lower than seemed possible.

  "By the mark four," the leadsman chanted. King nodded at Lewis, and another small marker was let over the side. Caulfield was in the launch, and was now supervising its passage along the side of Pandora, towards her stern. They would continue away from the ship, finally dropping the stream anchor a good hundred and fifty yards nearer the shore. Then, when the tide had risen to the extent that should make the manoeuvre worthwhile, the cable could be wound in. With luck they would gradually pull the ship back off the sand bar. Otherwise, if the anchor slipped, it would have to be raised again, transferred to the launch once more, and taken further back in the hope of finding solid ground before the benefit of the tide was lost. It would be a long and laborious business, although the end result should be a frigate free of the seabed, and ready to return to deep water.

  "Three fathoms." The depth was falling, although as King took bearings he and Lewis agreed that they were finding the edge of a channel, rather than a proper reduction in depth. King made yet another mark on the chart, and the leadsman retrieved his fourteen-pound weight and marked line. King glanced at his watch; it was just before ten – roughly four bells in the first watch. The light was almost gone, however; the sun had been swallowed by the beautifully empty North Sea some while ago and every minute the darkness took a firmer hold, making all of their duties that much more difficult.

  He heard the first gun but it did not register; they were returning to the ship to take another row of soundings, and King was making certain of their line and angle. They actually saw the result of the next however; a series of splashes that came straight towards them, finally ending fifty feet from Pandora’s hull, but less than twenty short of theirs. A moment later the dull report of a cannon reached them.

  "Gun fire!" Lewis said, unnecessarily, and King nodded. They looked across to the nearby land; little had changed, although clearly a battery had been established ashore. As they watched a stab of light drew their eyes, and soon another shot landed, this time much further out, at least seventy-five feet off their beam, although the range was almost perfect. If the piece had been directed a few degrees to the left, it would have hit Pandora or sunk their small boat.

  "Dutch don’t intend us finishing the job in peace," Lewis grumbled. King nodded, but felt in his heart that the enemy would not be content just to take pot shots—not when there were other ways to ensure their destruction.

  * * * * *

  Banks and Newman also heard the gunfire, and from their vantage point on the quarterdeck, they had a far better view.

  "I make it three, sir," Newman said cautiously after several shots had been sent hurtling towards them.

  "Are you sure that wasn’t the first firing again?" Banks asked.

  "No, sir,
they are taking longer to load than that, although of course I could be wrong."

  Yes, he could be wrong; people were wrong. Frequently. Although seldom did they have to pay for their mistakes as Banks was doing now. The launch had almost reached the ideal position, and should be ready to release the anchor shortly. Then, providing the flukes bit into the soft sea bed, they could start to winch Pandora free. With luck they should be clear of the area within half an hour, so the prospect of enduring small calibre gunfire from field pieces did not seem so very dreadful.

  Caulfield, standing in the bows of the launch, raised his hand, and Banks waved in reply. The boat tipped, then rose up and began to wobble alarmingly, but the anchor was safely deposited over the side, just as another round shot came close enough to drench the boat’s crew with sea water. Its job done, the launch withdrew, as the men at the capstan began to wind the cable in. Banks beckoned to Caulfield to return to Pandora; if the anchor did slip, they would have to collect it again from the ship; for them to stay where they were was a senseless risk of human life. He watched as the slack was gathered in, before another sight distracted his attention.

  Newman heard Banks catch his breath, and looked in the same direction. Something was happening on the shore. Lights could be seen and, by their faint glow, a small crowd were making their way towards the sea. There were masts moving amongst the figures; clearly they were launching boats. A flash from further off; possibly a signal; then an eerie blue light lit two more craft further out on the water. These were under sail as well as oars, and just emerging from the inlet between the two islands. Presumably the Dutch had gathered together enough heavy boats to launch an attack on Pandora.